Written.

Monday, 29 February 2016

We've all been broken. There is something in the polaroids we take of the ones we love. 8

I wish they would say about how people look if you look at them under a certain angle under the sun. I wish they would say how manic love can make you.

I wish so many things would’ve been said and not from my own mouth. I had to sit up in a complete haze, feeling a sour emotion in my mouth, looking at Valentine who was passed out on the rug next to the guitar I was playing with before we fell asleep. Her hair was tousled and pushed behind to make sure she wouldn’t wake up with a heavy bed head.

I wish mornings weren’t filled with misunderstanding.

Instead I just went to brush my teeth and see what else would it bring, as I would recall, opening the bathroom window some nostalgia and regret. We had both decided to drink alone, drinking far too much, not enough to forget but enough to make the day and night pass in a single baby grasp. I brushed my teeth far too fast, as if tired of the action because it would still allow me to be within my own head and that was something which made me loathe existence, the fact that no matter what you do you’re still left alone with your thoughts.

You never know when you fall in love, you never know when you like someone, that’s why I couldn’t pinpoint by looking back at the conversation when I had started liking her, because it was all a blur and I could only think of her face shielded by her hair, even if she was right besides me.

The problem with life is that it’s a harsh waiting game, where you never know the next roll of the dice or what squares are even there to land on.

The loneliest feeling in the world is if you don’t know if you should be feeling lonely at all. It clocks exactly when you don’t know how the other person feels. It’s the worst when you’re alone with love.

The days slip and hold no meaning.

I can’t even concentrate on my own reflection and I end up sitting on the floor, right next to her sprayed out on the sofa.

Talk can lead into many different paths. I end up lighting a cigarette, feeling a bit too creeped out by watching her, but she seems to be sound asleep and from the amount of alcohol we have drank, it’s not surprising at all. I’m surprised at how we had both dissolved entirely and allowed ourselves to talk, nearly in the opposite sides of the room and the more I talked the more anxious I would get that perhaps I didn’t sound interesting at all to her, as she would keep drinking, but Valentine kept listening and I even went in to talk about Brian, but I kept Miles out of the picture for now, just saying that I had loved many different men in my life. She kept listening, perhaps wondering how she could fit.

She’d be different.

I didn’t know where to stick myself as she was sleeping, because I was no longer in contact with Miles. It gave me some time to just sit next to the window sill and open the window, allowing the smoke to still seep into the apartment and halfway meet the clouds. It seemed to be immersed into some heartbroken solution and odd idleness, because she was there.

I had never really liked a woman. I just felt everyone pressure me into liking one and I tried not to think of my parents, who would be thrilled to know if I take a woman’s hand to the altair. I thought of sex briefly and the idea of constantly being on top was odd, but that could’ve been fixed, I wasn’t stupid. I just leaned harsher against the window sill and felt an odd desire to jump, so that I would never know what would happen.

The same songs happen on repeat in the mind and I have no idea when she will wake up, just because I managed to wake up rather fast and early, now making barely any noise besides the click of a lighter.

I’m scared of her leaving me, like Brian did.

It’s as if being scared in front of a game of chess, when you’re blindfolded and just screaming out where to put the pieces, without knowing the results.

I had a really bad ex, who told me that love is like a game of chess, to which Brian had laughed and told me that you should surely stay away from such people who claim that, but as years went on I wondered if it would actually still be a game of chess, what if it is between a man and a woman for instance? Something I never seemed to understand. And it was odd to be sitting next to the unknown.

She opened her brown eyes and we were left in the idea of a morning long gone, night creeping in on it’s toes and the day being a mere excuse in this weather.

What if it is a chess game, because you’re scared to move? Is that the whole commotion about love? Valentine ended up sitting up and we still looked at each other, eyes locked and all the snippets of yesterday’s conversation crawling back up, with her slumped against the couch and telling about her boyfriends and making sure that she wouldn’t mention who her current crush is.

I wonder if she likes me, even if I’ve heard Miles talking about how Arielle said that she has a crush on me. The different music taste and movie taste seemed to be an itch, but conversations would still intertwine like vines on a brick wall, clouding everything until you’d only see wild grapes.

In the end, she started mumbling excuses on how she should be leaving, that she stayed far too long.

“Stay, it’s okay.” I had told to reassure her, nearly grabbing her hand and wishing to simply keep going and spending the rest of the day together, hell, she could sleepover again if she wanted to. Valentine looked down, probably thinking of her change of clothes, which seemed to make her nervous. I could offer her some white shirt which I had, but I kept my tongue shut and now we seemed to be switching partners in the dance, not knowing who were we dancing with besides the fact that we were dancing away from each other.

I could see her leaving and then I would end up sulking about Miles and that’s when I wondered if I should’ve opened the last treasure chest to reveal the last ex of them all.

Was Valentine worth it as well, as I watched her stand up and excuse herself? Would it be worth it to be depressed about a break up? Would it be enough to be numb and not understand love again? I don’t know how else to tell her to stay.

When she does indeed leave, it feels like all the loneliness has managed to climb all of it’s way up to my throat, allowing all the thoughts to come back and wander in, allowing me to think if I would be able to buy a hitman for myself. And I know that I would prefer sitting sipping coffee in a cafe, calmly, knowing that this would be it. I would end up spending all my money that day and I would just wait, knowing what awaits and I wouldn’t flinch and probably my corpse would be smiling. I try not to think of it much, as I make myself some tea, not even registering properly that Valentine had left, herself not sure how she would properly fit into my life, after yesterday and it made sense trying to understand why another puzzle piece managed to get in here.

I truly wish life could somehow end and then there would be no worries, that credits would somehow roll and I would still be walking from that cafe, that I could be calm. When I was a child, I wished that I would be a ghost, because it seemed like a calm thing to do.

I end up sleeping far too much, both of us avoidant at first and I don’t know how to kill time until the next time I see her.

She comes in my dreams, but she’s different there and that causes me some alarm, what if I don’t know who I’m falling for?

But while you’re sane you can still think whether the person is good for you and even if I understood that I could call Miles I couldn’t understand how could I even pick up the phone and still keep talking. I didn’t know how to even talk to him once more.

It kept going in circles, as I would light cigarette after cigarette in the apartment, laying on the couch, legs dangling and colliding with the scattered on the floor pillows and I would imagine Valentine looking at me. Maybe there’s a reason she had left me, for me to understand how much I had wanted her.

Did I even want a woman in my life?

I’ve never been with a woman this way.

Would that even somehow work?

I light another cigarette, barely feeling anything this time, curling up into a ball and wondering if a person who didn’t text me or call me after such a connection is even worth it. And since there’s no Brian obviously, Brian felt as distant as Spring really was, because the months would just go slowly without any explaining, devouring weeks mindlessly and yet the dates on the calendar seemed the same, because only a day had passed when a month should’ve.

And the struggle kept going around in circles, not explaining itself and now I would go to sleep thinking of her besides me. I didn’t want to think of it as love, but if I were to write poetry early in the morning with no sleep the brushes would describe it with such words, just to make it pretty.

And no matter how much I’d try my mind wouldn’t turn off, instead I’d ask myself where would I even want to be going. Because no matter what you do, the mind is still on and you’re left alone with your conversations because why the hell not, because someone had decided that it’s a good idea. And being alone gets worse up to the point that I just decide to head out, choosing the warmer old coat, recalling far too much drama on my sleeve. Is it a good thing when your worse drama is from your heart? And it’s far too cold, even in the coat and I realize that I didn’t even check the weather, allowing whatever part of my bipolar to reign over me entirely to the point that I can’t even function and I end up in the grocery store, not even knowing what I want, besides maybe some alcohol, which I have plenty back home. I end up wondering near the milk cartons about Brian and how could I even let him go eventually and how come Miles was a far more tragic death to me. But people end up expiring and sometimes we still pick them up, hoping that just like yoghurt there is some secret knack to it being more sour. But it rarely ends up being so.

I keep asking myself if I want someone who hasn’t texted me yet, but then I didn’t text her, so I do her the pleasure of texting and that’s when I’m left smoking for a reply, not sure who would I even share her with and I wonder of ever running into Arielle. She’s her friend and then we could gossip and I would feel guilty about never telling her about her cheating boyfriend, because she’s naive just like me, she believes in love. Maybe that’s why we’d get along. Not the cheating, but the pure belief in our boyfriends.

-

I actually have an exciting (at least more exciting) backstory this time. I'm happy to announce that I'm back to writing fully, even if it's a bit slow for me. I'll be putting out chapters as I'll be done with them, if not, I'll put up a chapter of the animal and then an ode once I'm done with the animal. But I kind of missed fanfiction a lot and I guess that's what I specialize in, innit?

A lot of this came due to the rollercoaster from having a crush. Woah, Jamie, aren't you poly? Shouldn't you have crushes all the time? 'Fraid not. I haven't had a proper two-sided crush in two years. I've had crushes with odd circumstances, but not somewhere which ended up being a two-way street. I have no idea where it's going now and it might be gone, but it sure gave me enough fire to write.

I had only a bit of this chapter written and I picked up this story, because it was a first for me where I in a waltz with a fellow gay man. I hadn't done that since I came out, so it was all new and foreign, that's why this story was chosen, because Jamie has it weird for him as well. Also, I have my insecurities so this story was really there for me to vent. I also struggled whether not to write this backstory, but I really enjoy venting and telling what's going on, because after all, a story is a gem when you know what inspired the author. We all crave to know.

Everything is such a rollercoaster of emotion, that I'd write phrases down as they would come, when I was sure I was liked back, when I wasn't sure.

Talks sometimes vanish and go into nowhere, so that's why Valentine goes away so abruptly, I don't know where does mine go, but for Valentine I know where it's going.

I think one of my favourite metaphors which isn't accurate would be that love is a game of chess. It was told by my ex to a friend of ours and then in turn she had told me, and that had stuck with me 9 or 8 years on.

The hitman thinking was actually because I saw a post on tumblr and that had inspired me to write and when I was writing so seldom, I would grab anything which would take my attention to be fairly honest.

I still wish to be a ghost at the end of my life actually, it just sounds so pleasing.

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Writing just seems to be the form where examples are the simplest and situations the realest.

My frustration is the fuel which my characters face and just limiting the value of my writing to good prose is Kubrick cutting the end of A Clockwork Orange to make a shallow movie about violence.

My work is my anger and everyone's anger at ignorance at those who will limit anyone to the background.

The further work is not about love, love is the aid to get us through society which we've created, born into and have to struggle with every day.

And love is the fuel, the fuel to the anger which I have to bear for being queer and deviant.

And I am not a love story. I am not something to cry over. I am something which should make you realize if you are at a privileged position that you should make a change, if you are discriminated, that you are not alone, that we should all have this fuel and should never just be limited to love.

Because our anger is valid.

We became our anger, so that the love will not only nourish us now, but later when all is done and we are no longer deviant to a society who hates itself.

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I do not own any of the character, band or other names based off real persons and groups; they served only as inspiration for my characters in the stories, whose rights I own. The works published herein and elsewhere by me are entirely fictional, and any resemblance to real life events is merely coincidental. No libel or slander is intended.